


Public

by Fire_Sign



Series: Phrack Fucking Fridays [27]
Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: F/M, MFMM Smutuary, pff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-01
Updated: 2019-02-01
Packaged: 2019-10-19 22:23:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17610146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fire_Sign/pseuds/Fire_Sign
Summary: A nightclub, a raid, and a wee bit of smut--it's PFF and Smutuary, and who can resist that?





	Public

**Author's Note:**

> So, the ingenius Allison_Wonderland [proposed Smutuary](https://ohrosewhatsinaname.tumblr.com/post/182110065731/the-holidays-are-over-ficathon-posting-is-winding), a month-long smutfest. There are still plenty of prompts left, so head on over to the link and read up!
> 
> For the prompt: "Public"

“We need to get out of here.”

Phryne could barely make out Jack’s words, the noise of the club and the press of his hand against her back and his lips brushing her ear with every word all wonderfully thrilling, but something in his tone cut through her. Trouble. She turned to look at him, question in her eyes and a smile on her lips that would fool anyone at a distance.

“Aren’t you enjoying our little adventure, Jack?” she lilted, turning in the booth to place her hand against the back of his neck and kissing him quickly.

“I am,” he said, leaning in to speak against her ear and motioning slightly with his head, “and in about ten minutes that bloke in the corner is going to call a raid.”

She spotted the man Jack meant immediately, so perfectly dressed for a night at an illegal nightclub that it circled back around to _wrong_.

“Are you ever _not_ a policeman?” she said, tongue darting out to lick his lips. He groaned.

“Believe me, Miss Fisher, only the threat of a night in the cells could convince me to leave right now.”

His face was almost comically pained, and she tried to hide her smile. How _thrillingly_ indulgent.

“Right, then try to look like you’re not thinking of anything but how badly you want to fuck me and let’s get out of here,” she said, sliding from the booth and grabbing her wrap.  

He followed, his hands resting just above her derriere and his lips on her neck both just a little too sloppy; he’d switched to water hours earlier, so it was all pretense, and _damn_ if that attention to detail didn’t cause the embers that had glowed all evening to spark.

“Five minutes,” he murmured. “I missed the one in white.”

“Two,” she countered, nodding to the third man lingering by the exit, “and we’re not getting out that door.”

“Fuck.”

“Change of plan, Jack,” she said, veering off-course to head towards a little-used service corridor hidden behind a curtain; she’d used it more than once while dancing the night away the last time she’d been in London. Always good for a quiet gasper or displays that were a little too intimate for the dance floor.

“Your solution is to hide?” he asked incredulously, and she rolled her shoulders.

“Not quite,” she said, pushing the curtain aside and pulling him through. Several feet into the corridor she twirled, pressing her back against the wall and dragging him close by his tie. “And you’re going to have to kiss me.”

She saw the spark of recognition in his eyes, never more than two steps behind. If they couldn't escape, this was at least one of the better ways to get caught.

“However will I cope?” he said dryly, one hand sliding onto her hip as he did just that.

They kissed through the initial whistles declaring the raid, her fingers sneaking beneath his suit jacket to claw at his back, his hand moving down to cup her thigh as she wrapped her leg around his.

“Isn’t it thrilling?” she breathed, tugging at his ear with her teeth.

“It’s madness.”

But his clever fingers had slipped beneath her skirt, pressed against her knickers, making her gasp.

“Madness,” Jack repeated darkly, a two-stroke movement against her silk-covered clit causing her knees to buckle. “But worth every second.”

He pressed against her harder, his body against hers and his fingers beneath her underwear and his voice against her ear whispering lovely, filthy things, until soon she forgot where she was, why they were here, everything but the thrill of Jack Robinson teasing her to orgasm with his hands and his voice and that goddamn self control that made it so easy to lose herself in the moment.

“Oh, oh, oh,” she gasped, a hand flat against the wall as she arched into his touch, bit her lip, so close, so good, “oh god, Jack, keep— _ohhhhhh_.”

“Shhh,” he scolded, moving his mouth against hers to muffle the sound, but it was too late.

“Here!”

Jack pulled away abruptly, surreptitiously wiping his fingers against his trousers as the curtain jerked back, revealing what appeared to be half the Metropolitan Police milling around the now significantly more well-lit club. A few patrons were lined against a wall, and Phryne knew she’d have to think quickly if she wanted to get out of this particular incident without a record of it. Poor Jack might have an apoplexy if the whole thing ever got back to Russell Street. Then she spotted a sergeant she’d recognise anywhere.

“Oh, hello Frank!” she chirped, straightening her dress as best she could. “It’s been an age since I’ve seen you.”

Frank, to his credit, managed not to blush too profusely as his inspector turned with curious eyes.

“Uhh, this is—uh, Miss Phryne Fisher. She’s, umm—”

“A private detective,” Phryne said, stepping forward and extending her hand, her legs only slightly shakey from the after-effects of her orgasm. “And this is my colleague from Melbourne, Inspector Jack Robinson. You boys have rather interrupted a delicate assignment, but I’m sure we can forgive you under the circumstances.” She craned her neck slightly to see past them. “That wasn’t a dead body I saw a moment ago, was it?”

Someone was most definitely slumped over in a booth, the angle unnatural; the unnamed inspector stepped in front of her line of sight.

“Miss Fisher,” he said firmly, “this is really not a place for a woman.”

Behind her, she heard Jack groan; she turned to admonish him, and saw the smile lurking at the corners of his mouth. Always the policeman. She turned back to the other inspector.

“Be that as it may,” she said cheerfully, “here I am.”

Then she stepped past them, well aware Jack would follow, the thrill of the case far too tempting for either of them to resist.


End file.
